I'm Not Sure - A Reflection on Quitting

A combination goodbye to my 20s and my current career.

Pictured: My beloved selfie mirror on the lot, next to our sobriquet Frenchie Walls

It’s a perverse little thrill to give that response. The first thing I learned at the Walt Disney Company is to admit when you don’t know something; with the pace of production, you won't always have an answer. Ambiguity is scary to most people, and was absolutely petrifying to myself up until recently. But I’m blunt on my best days, refusing to lie on my worst, so I entertain the question: “What are you doing next?” I start with the same answer. “I’m not sure.”

What I do know is that this chapter of change had a beginning. My 28th birthday, fresh off of an eventful trip to Mexico City, standing at the door of the ABC building in my pink button down skirt set. Sometimes life moves so quickly that your decisions feel like they are being made for you and you forget that you have free will. Most of my career decisions came across as things I’m supposed to do. Move to the city. Get that internship. Apply to the studio. Always keep looking. Brag about it all at dinner but ignore the involuntary clench in your hand. This job on paper, in practice, from the vision boards, is supposed to be my dream job. The last piece of my dream life. 

How my life unfolded after, is anything but. I might have overcorrected too heavily, dousing myself in the newness. I followed the momentum of being unfulfilling at work, my main identifier, through a waterfall. This couldn’t be the problem, everything else is. I refuse to quit. I break up with my boyfriend. I move out alone. I go to concerts every few days so I can’t hear my brain think. I impulse shop for brief satisfaction. I drink way too much. I interview for other jobs. I turn down my only offer. I watch my cat pass. I live in a place that feels like a tornado. I turn into said tornado. All of it feels awful, and none of it, the before or the now, feels right. 

Pictured: Me, July 2023, on a road trip when I was going through the worst of it

“If you stick it out, what happens then?” An older, wiser friend asked me the question on one of our walks. I mulled it over for days. Then: I have an interesting job at a big company in a city I no longer enjoy. People who wrote “can’t wait to see you make movies” in my yearbooks aren’t liars. The career I poured years of work into sustains itself for that much longer. None of those equate to me being happy, truly. 

And if I quit, what’s next? Endless possibilities. My entire job was calculating risks; it finally came time to do the math on my own. To quit means I accept that I’ve changed, and that the old me that I love in a nostalgic, sentimental way will be disappointed. But I love the current me (resilient, hopeful, curious) that much more - so I do it for her. When I finally decide, it’s at the end of my 20s. All wrapped up in a bow.

I’m leaning so far into what I like to do that there is no other option. For this writing passion to work, I need to be delusional. Ignore the Type A, Google Cal madwoman that I am. All the things I need to improve on are elements I need to succeed. I have to be confident and okay with making mistakes. I have to be open to criticism, and not fight back on a moment’s notice. But most of all, I have to know that not being sure is not a sign of defeat. It’s honest and true. And what more could anyone want to be? 

Everything is so much sweeter once I decide to say goodbye. I approach my cubicle and want to cry. It feels like I’m bleeding - all the love that I tried to have for this career is hemorrhaging as love for my team, my routine, my experiences. I’m given congratulations and condolences, and I hold both tightly. The ship is safe in harbor, but I am not a vessel. Look up! I am a comet: insanely bright, burning my own path in a fiery streak. 

Pictured: A few little friends from my time at TWDC

Meanwhile IRL…

I celebrated my 30th birthday! It was a whirlwind weekend of my favorite things: dancing, roller skating, socializing, and Lightning McQueen. The bartender at the Blue Room, where they filmed Christopher Nolan’s “Memento,” asked me if I was 19 (AKA my favorite number) and it felt like kismet. It was the perfect ending to my 20s, and one that I completely needed. Thank you times a million to my loved ones - I really felt like myself this year :) I’ll try to show restraint when it comes to photos and videos down the line, but it’s Libra season and I had many favorites!

Written to: 400 Lux by Lorde; The Mixed Tape by Jack’s Mannequin 
Category: Time Machines, Schemes